Unexpected
by Paralelsky
Summary: A hunter and a witch meet in bar – seems like the beginning of a bad joke, but when the hunter is Dean Winchester and the witch is Harriet "Harry" Potter, you know things won't go the usual way. Even though the night begins so well. FemHarry.
1. Uhm, would you?

**AN: **Oh no, I didn't...except I did: that is started another project. A crossover between Harry Potter and Supernatural because I love those two universes just too damn much. And of course I had to do a **genderbender**, as in Harry becoming Harriet, cause there's no way I'm doing that to the Winchesters. :D

**Rating: M**

**Pairing: Dean/Harry **

**Warnings: un-betaed, semi-crack, infrequent updating schedule, mention of sexual activities, violence and gore. And the F word. And Dean, cause his presence in any fic should come with a warning.**

**Disclaimer: The Winchesters and their universe are the product of Kripke and company. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm only borrowing them for a bit of harmless fun .**

**Summary: **A hunter and a witch meet in bar – seems like the beginning of a bad joke, but when the hunter is Dean Winchester and the witch is Harriet "Harry" Potter, you know things won't go the usual way. Even though the night begins so well. FemHarry.

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><p><strong>Uhm...would you?<strong>

She's standing at the bar drinking beer when he notices her. She's petite, lean body with just the right amount of curves to make a guy want to move his hands all over it, jet black hair reaching her shoulder blades and when she turns her head to grin at something her companion says, he also notices her eyes. Green eyes, luminous that he can tell their color from where he's standing, framed by long, dark lashes.

Dean shifts a little in his booth and takes a long sip from his bottle. He is not close enough to make out what she's saying, but her laughter feels like a velvet glove going all over his body.

_Fuck_, he hasn't had a reaction like this to a woman ever since he's been a horny fourteen year old ready to explode from hormones. And he hasn't even spoken with her yet.

_Well, no time like the present_, so he finishes his beer and heads for the bar while mentally cataloguing every male in her vicinity. The red head she's with, seems awfully cozy, but his manner is that of a long time friend, not a lover. Plus, the moment another brunette comes back from the toilette and slides right between them, his hands automatically go to her waist.

But that doesn't mean the dark haired beauty has been unnoticed, as more than one guy is watching her. Even the bartender goes back to her group every once in a while, filling up her glass even though she never asks for it.

No, she's just a pretty little thing out for a night with her friends.

_Just what the doctor's ordered. _

Swaggering a little he goes next to her, close enough to make her notice him, but not to make her feel uncomfortable; he signals for another beer and then lazily turns to her and smiles his signature killer.

"Hey there, I'm Dean."

…..

Harry is pleasantly buzzed. She knows it because she can't stop giggling at Ron's jokes even though they aren't always funny. It's a pity in a way that all the alcohol she's drinking gets diluted the moment her magic came into play so she can't get drunk on it no matter how much she tries, but on the other hand she'll be spared the killer hangover. And that's something to be grateful for.

She and her friends are at the bar having a great time. After the war and the mess with the Wizarding Society for which she worked to settle for the last three years, she decided to go on a trip around the world. She's seen so many beautiful sites and interesting things the wizards back home had no inkling about, but she got a bit bored traveling alone, so she persuaded Ron and Hermione to meet her in the States for a two weeks round trip. They came, they had their fun and they were leaving tomorrow, their portkey ready for them, while she was to remain for another month before going back to Britain. At least that is the current plan.

So Ron is grinning, telling her about that time when Ginny left the twins bald because they hid her favorite doll, when she sees him for the first time. He's sitting alone in a booth, a beer in front of him as he surveys the room. He has broad shoulders encased in leather, spiky short hair and his lips, which she notices when he takes a sip from his bottle, are pure sin. She can't tell the color of his eyes, the shadows hiding them from her view, but the rest she sees is all planes, lines and angles that could put a Greek statue to shame. She feels her cheeks reddening a little and, _maybe_, heat pooling in her belly so she distracts herself by taking a long sip from her never empty glass. _Huh_, the service is better than she'd been expecting.

He moves, rising slowly from his booth and _Oh Merlin! _He's coming her way. Shivers run down her arms, as she feels his gaze measuring her from head to toe, and suddenly her mouth is dry as if she hadn't had a drink all night. She's aware of his every move and she can barely resist the need to squirm when he stops right beside her to order another beer. He's close enough that she can touch him is she only reaches out a little.

And then he turns around, smiles in a way that should be illegal because it makes his hazel green eyes sparkle mischievously, and she was right: up close he's breathtaking. And then he simply introduces himself as Dean.

Her body moves before her brain can process all and the next thing she knows, her right hand is engulfed in his slightly larger one and she answers smiling.

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Harry."

….

Dean cocks an eyebrow at the unexpected name, but there's no doubt about it. She's too lovely to be anything but female, and her accent does some very interesting things to his innards. He's never had an accent kink before, but for her voice he might be willing to indulge.

She laughs a little at his expression then she goes and explains as if she's done it a million times before: "Short from Harriet."

"I like it." he answers and it's strange how at ease he feels in her company - as if he's known her for quite some time - while simultaneously he is almost thrumming with energy. And he knows that if he scores tonight, she's not someone he'll be forgetting in a hurry.

_Who is he kidding? There is no if in the current situation._

His smile turns more predatory and he enjoys the way her gorgeous eyes dart to his mouth before she's settling her gaze anywhere but his face while blushing prettily.

"How about we take these" he gestures to both their drinks "and settle for somewhere more quiet? So we can get to know each other better."

…

Harry really wants to say yes, the stranger, _Dean,_ is just that hypnotizing and she briefly wonders that maybe he put a spell on her, except she can tell he's no wizard, and clearly her mind is rambling and going all over the place, and what was the question again?... Right, she takes another sip from her drink and watches her friends with the corner of her eye, because this was supposed to be their last night together and as much as she is intrigued, she's not going to ditch them for a stranger. But Hermione has that little smug smile on the corner of her mouth that says she knows something important that others don't, while she's manhandling Ron to his feet. Ron looks a bit bewildered between his girlfriend and his best friend, but he is too accustomed to doing what Hermione says so he doesn't protest when she makes their excuses.

"Me and Ron are beat, Harry. We'll be going to the hotel now. See you tomorrow before the flight?"

And Harry would have kissed her, or maybe given her a really big hug, because she knows exactly what Hermione is doing. So they say their goodbyes and suddenly she's all alone at the bar with this guy that's just too tempting for her own good.

"Somewhere quiet? What do you have in mind?"

…

They are barely out of the bar when they're locked in a kiss so hot it's making her dizzy and her toes curl. Or maybe that's the lack of oxygen because she can't get enough of his lips to be bothered to breathe. They break apart chests heaving and then he's suddenly there leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses on the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her neck, licking a little at the sensitive skin behind her ear and Harry feels her knees turning to jello.

"Stop…just a little" it's too much - the sensations traveling all over her body before concentrating at that point beneath her navel - but she would like to go somewhere where there's a little more privacy before, you know, completely losing her mind.

He relents just a little, resting his chin on her head as he takes huge gulps of air.

"Yeah…we should probably…go for the hotel."

She nods, too caught in his spell for anything else, like thoughts of how this is such a bad idea, cause she doesn't know him and the Wizarding World really frowns on the whole casual sex thing and did someone mention what a spectacularly bad idea this thing is?

She resolutely tells that annoying voice in her head to kindly shut the fuck up, as Dean leads her to the nearest hotel. Which is roughly five blocks away from the bar, but the trip takes much longer than normal as they stop to trade kisses until she's giddy with want. They are almost there, just at the corner of the street, when this deep, unearthly, horrible growl suddenly fills the night air.

To be continued?

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><p><strong>AN: This was a bunny that bit me out of the blue so fair warning: I have no idea where is it going, or how long it is. Heck, it might not even gather enough attention from the readers to be worth continuing, but I just had to exorcise it so I can go to sleep now. So yeah, what do you think? <strong>


	2. Ok, now what?

**AN: **So judging by the number of people who alerted and faved this story I'm pretty certain you want it continued, but to be absolutely certain of that, why don't you also drop me a line in a **review**? XD

Honestly, I'm thrilled with the response and I want to give a big **THANK YOU **to all of you who decided to give it a chance. I really hopes this chapter doesn't disappoint. Enjoy reading it!

**Rating: M**

**Pairing: Dean/Harry **

**Warnings: un-betaed, semi-crack, infrequent updating schedule, mention of violence and gore. And the F word. And Dean, cause his presence in any fic should come with a warning.**

**Disclaimer: see first chapter. :D**

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><p><strong>Ok, now what?<strong>

They both froze, their instincts telling them no to make any sudden moves. Dean turns around slowly, arm keeping Harry close to his chest, when his brain suddenly makes sense of the nightmarish creature that is stepping out of the shadows.

Black fur, body the size of a pony, red eyes and a maw full of sharp, long fangs, from which someone's dead dog is hanging out.

_Fuck_, it's a black dog. On steroids. And they interrupted it while it was feeding. _Double fuck! _

At least now he knows what happened to all the pets that have been disappearing in the neighborhood, a really small part of his mind notices, while most of his brain is swarmed with plans, ideas and strategies on to how to make it out alive, both him and the girl that's…_entirely too calm about the current situation?_

Which, as far as he knows, is not normal civilian behavior. Unless she's in shock and that makes everything ten times harder.

He needs to time things right, half-baked plan already in motion, when Harry squirms from his embrace, shoves him hard enough he needs to take a step back and in one smooth move she points a stick slightly above her head. A bluish light flashes for a moment and the next thing he sees is another beast stopped in mid leap as if held by an invisible force field. Then Harry snaps her wrist and the creature is sent flying into some nearby trashcans. It doesn't immediately get upright, probably stunned by the impact and Dean has just the fraction of a second needed to concentrate on the nearest threat - the first black dog, which has finished its snack and it's now tensing as if getting ready to pounce on its prey.

His gun probably teleports itself in his right hand, because he has no memory of making the move to reach for it at the back of his pants, and he manages two shots that hit their mark if the pain filled yelping is any indication. The beast growls and quickly retreats to the shadows preparing to flee, and Dean is torn. He wants to give chase and finish it, but there's another black dog right there getting up from the pile of trash where Harry has sent it.

"Go after it! I have this one covered!" She sounds tense, but confident and Dean can't help but believe her. He doesn't think about the stunt she pulled with that stick – which he has no idea what that is – but he knows he can't let the black dog get away and maul someone getting home really late. So he nods, and takes off running after it, never seeing the way Harry body language changes.

She's no longer on the defensive; she's a fully trained auror, a predator equally as dangerous as the creature snarling at her, and the adrenaline coursing through her veins is a powerful drug. And this feeling, of matching wits and strength and then overcoming the obstacles, is something she's missed ever since auror training stopped being about catching the bad guys and became too much about politics and paperwork. Harry gives a smile that's too full of teeth to be anything else but a challenge and looking the creature directly in the eyes, she says:

"Let's dance."

_Hermione was right, I'm an adrenaline junkie - _it's her last amused thought, as the black dog growls so angry it's actually foaming at the muzzle, and Harry's mind and body focus completely on the task ahead.

…

It takes ten minutes of running until he eventually catches with the running beast. The trail he followed is clearly marked with blood so dark it's almost looks like tar, but when he steps in the backward alley with a wall that makes it a dead end, there's no dog in sight. He moves with caution, gun at point, as the light from the nearby street helps with the visibility in some parts, while making the shadows impenetrable. He moves silently, ears strained to catch any noise that shouldn't be there. He's nearly at the end of the alley when there's a clattering sound behind him that has him whipping his gun around ready to shoot, only to realize the streaking black and white he sees is too small to be his prey.

_Damn cat!_

He takes a step forward, stumbling a little as his jeans get caught in a piece of rubbish, and that's exactly what saves his head from being ripped off his body as the dog pounces from the shadows. It still hits him with its hind legs and Dean falls down hard. He barely has the time to turn around when the creature is upon him, heavy paws crushing his chest and snarling teeth one inch from his face. He doesn't hesitate as he brings up his gun and fires. Once, twice, point blank in the eye. Brain matter and blood smatters all over and the dead carcass falls heavily on him.

And he thinks that if his ribs weren't hurt before now are definitely cracked because he can barely breathe. With one herculean effort Dean pushes the dog off him, and as quickly as possible he gets to his feet. Normally he would start a fire to dispose of the evidence but the sound of the shots attracted some attention as he sees at least one window lighting up in the building facing the alley.

With one last glance to the fallen beast, the hunter starts to jog where he left his date fighting with the beast's mate. _His date, who is clearly not entirely human._

Dean groans and then decides on plan of action. And to think the night was going so well.

…

In the end Harry is disappointed. One _Sectumsempra_, a _Blasting hex_ and to finish the good old _Incendio_. She didn't drag the fight, nor did she torture the beast needlessly, but seriously she'd expected more of a challenge from the famed feral American black dogs, if her texts on the subject where to be believed.

She has already vanishes the charred remains and she was sitting and waiting for her companion when the sound of a cocking gun gets her to her feet. Harry critically eyes her companion: the blood that's clearly not his, the way he seems to have trouble breathing, and yet the arm pointing the gun at her is completely steady.

"Are you going to shoot me now?" She asks, self deprecating smile firmly in place. Seriously, now that Harry thinks about it, waiting for the guy was probably the stupidest thing she did all night. She should have apparated to the hotel the moment the black dog was no longer a problem, but some part of her – the non-thinking one, clearly – persuaded her to wait and see if he was alright.

"That depends on how are you going to answer my questions." Dean gestures with his free hand towards the hotel which, ironically, has been their destination in the first place. "But I don't think this conversation that should happen here in the open. Get going. " He shepherds her towards his room, gun digging in her back.

…

The moment Harry crosses the threshold she feels the wards protecting the room coming to life around her. They are too weak to keep a fully trained wizard such as herself confined, but they are effective against most creatures that roam the streets at night. And it's that that piece of evidence that pretty much solidifies the conclusion Harry reached while she was being brought in the room. Her date was a hunter.

_Damn, only her and her freaky bad luck! _Why did the hottest guy she's seen in the whole town have to be her natural enemy?

"Sit." He's all brisk moves and military precision as he checks for breaches in the protective sigils and then makes her sit on the single bed. She watches him intently and thinks those ribs he's visibly favoring must hurt like a bitch, and something must have shown on her expression because he straightens up, wipes all emotion of his face like a mask falling on and then he tosses her a flask.

"Drink that." She cocks an eyebrow at the command, and debates the wisdom of refusing outright and toss the flask back at him. The hunter is tense and alert and could probably shoot her if she tried to apparate, but she has a rule of not accepting food and drinks from strangers - that are not bartenders working in a bar.

"What is it?"

"Holy water. Now drink it before I make you."

"Bossy." She mutters but she opens the flask and takes a deep breath. It doesn't smell like anything except stale water kept for too long in a metallic flask and she experimentally wets her lips. When nothing happens, except for a rather pleasant tingle, she dips the flask and takes a hearty gulp. All that fighting has made her thirsty.

His face expression softens for a bit as Harry demonstrates she's probably human and not possessed, but by the time she gives the water back Dean's hidden his emotions under his mask.

"Anything else you'd like me to try? Because I have to tell you, silver has no effect on me." And with that she waves her wrist where a thick silver bracelet with intricate design currently resides.

Dean relaxes minutely, as some of his worst guesses are cut off his mental list. Silver and holy water are pretty standard as tests go and most human looking creatures fail at one of them so Harry is most likely human. Which leaves only one possibility - which he hopes is not right, because he hates witches.

"So what are you?" he asks almost conversationally and really hopes it's not what he was thinking.

She's silent for a moment, head tilted to the side as if debating the pro and cons of telling him the truth and then she sighs.

"I'm a witch."

_He fucking knew it! Damn it all to hell!_

His eyes go back to flinty, all the tentative emotions that were making a comeback, now siphoned out like water from a sieve, and Dean can feel a muscle spasm in his jaw from grinding his teeth hard.

"Where is your altar?" he can barely form the words, anger and disappointment warring in his chest and he clutches his gun so he doesn't do anything impulsive when Harry gives him an incredulous snort.

"What altar? I was born this way." And she has the gall to smile at him, mockingly.

"There's no such thing as a natural born witch." He knows his stuff and he's never heard of that. She's clearly playing with him and Dean Winchester is not someone to be played with.

"That shows how much you know, hunter. Believe me there's a whole world out there you have no idea about."

"Really? Do tell." Dean still doesn't believe her, but he can humor her for the moment. It's not like he has somewhere urgent he need to be, hurting ribs notwithstanding, and this could prove educational. _Hey, just because he didn't go to college like his brother Sammy, doesn't mean he's stupid, alright?_

"I'm probably breaking so many laws just by mentioning this to you, but I can prove it to you." Harry's smile is softer now, and alluring, and Dean can't help but think it's an expression that suites her so much more than the mocking one from before. "You have a source, right?" She continues on the same tone. "Someone who helps you with the research when you can't find your answers alone. Call him, or her, and ask to search for texts regarding wizards and witches that are older that the 1100 AD. Those are where the distinction between the two kinds - the demonic dealing witch and the natural born one is still being made."

"What's so important with that date?" He can't help but get caught in the conversation. So far she hasn't made any threatening move towards him and that tells him two things. She's either confidant she can persuade him and there's the chance she's telling the truth because his bullshit detector isn't giving him one beep; or she's so powerful that she's simply unafraid of him. Dean knows for certain what options he prefers, but he keeps the worst case scenario tactics in the back of his mind the whole conversation. He's not about to be surprised, once per night is more than he can handle, thank you very much. As for his inner bullshit detector, that damn thing could be broken.

"That's the year when the Wizarding World went as a separate society from the normal world and the Secrecy Status came into being."

That is not what he was expecting._ Wizarding World?_

His sheer disbelief must have shown because Harry chuckles and then spends the next ten minutes telling him about a secret society of wizards and witches that feels more like an alternative universe than anything else. It's the most elaborate story any witch has ever fed him, and he's not sure whether to believe it, based solely in the fact it's too unthinkable not to be the truth, or to bang Harry on the head and have her committed.

"Even if that's the truth, and I'm not saying I believe you, but…why are you telling me this? Shouldn't you be afraid of me and what can I do?" Because thinking back at their conversation so far, this is one thing that rubs him the wrong way.

Something happens then, the moment he finishes his question: like a slowly coming realization that makes her eyes widen, and then she's smiling in a more wolfish manner.

"First, if you wanted me dead you would have shot me down instead of asking me questions, so let's just say I'm repaying the effort. And second, what makes you think that I would let you remember our conversation should you start being more trouble than you're worth?" Harry doesn't change the helpful tone she used while explaining all the nonsense about the Wizarding World, yet Dean feels a small shiver running down his spine at her implied threat. And what exactly does it say about him the fact that her assertiveness is stroking back to flames the embers of the attraction he felt at the bar, once his mind has decided she's not an immediate enemy?

"And third," Harry continues, not aware of his shifting opinion. "Those black dogs that attacked us in the alley? I believe I know who's behind them. And I want in on this particular hunt."

All thoughts coming to a halt, Dean watches Harry wearingly. _Why does he have the feeling he's about to step in something that is way over his head?_

_TBC..._

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><p><strong>Any ideas on what's going on? I would love to hear them? <strong>


	3. Things are always better in the morning?

**TAN: **And it continues. Sorry if there isn't much happening in this chapter, but it was needed so the story could progress to the good stuff. :P

THANK YOU, dear readers, for your interest in my story and please don't hesitate to leave a review as well when you favorite it/ add it to your alerts. I promise I won't bite!:D

**Rating: M**

**Pairing: Dean/Harry**

**Beta: **the incredibly talented **Freebooter 4Ever **took out her mighty red pen and whipped this chapter into shape. And my dear friend** llLethell **also pointed out some things in the last chapter that were edited since then. Thank you very much my dears! I cheerfully claim all remaining mistakes because I can't help it but play a little with the chapter after it was send back to me squeakily clean.

**Warnings: swearing,semi-crack, infrequent updating schedule, mention of violence and gore. And Dean, because his presence in any fic should come with a warning.**

**Disclaimer: see first chapter. :D**

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><p><strong>Things are always better in the morning, right?<strong>

They say morning brings a clear mind, but in Harry's case it comes with a throbbing headache in the back of her head and a mouth as parched as a desert. She moans a little as she attempts to open her eyes to mere slits. The unforgiving morning light stabs her retinas. The image eventually clears, but she has to blink twice, uncomprehending, before her brain makes sense of what she's seeing and feeling.

Hungover - _bad_, unknown room - _equally bad_, her lying completely dressed on the bed covers – _finally something good_. And her mind settles a bit when she feels the familiar presence of her wand strapped to her forearm.

_To sum it all in one word? Really uncool _- and alright that was two words but she's not that picky in the morning. And she's almost positive she should give up drinking, so waking up like this doesn't become a habit.

A movement in the room caches her attention and in an instant Harry is tense.

_Someone else is in here with her_.

A sudden flow of adrenaline banishes her headache, but outwards Harry moves her head slowly until she can finally see the other occupant of the room. And when she gets a good look at him – _Why, hello there! – _the guy is ridiculously good looking even in his scruffy, un-slept state.

_Huh_, so maybe the alcohol wasn't such a bad idea if the result was a guy as hot as that with her in the room. Except several things don't add up in the current situation. For instance, what she was doing asleep, fully clothed on the bed while he – _What's his name? - _is sitting at the table, slowly browsing what seems to be a large, well-worn journal.

She frowns a bit and tries to remember the night before, when her mind recalls the hunk's name.

_Dean._

And just like that, the events of the pervious night slam into her as hard and painful as a ton of bricks. Bar, drinking, black dogs, hunter, witch - Harry faintly moans as the situation is finally clear in her mind_. _

_Oh, dear Merlin! _That's it, she's done with liquor for life if only a couple of glasses are enough for her to babble to the first hunter she finds, no matter how fetching he is. Her boss will have her hide if even a whiff of this makes it back home. And she enjoys the thought of still having a job as an Auror when she gets back, _thank you very much_.

Her scrutiny catches his attention and with a deceivingly casual move, he puts the book on the table and stares at her for a minute, his eyes hard. Harry squirms a little, tendrils of dread pooling in her belly, and considers her options. _Obliviating _him is the logical thing to do, except she's really reluctant about it. And there's still that hunt he's currently on to consider.

Last night she had offered her assistance, unconsciously pushed on by the familiar feel of the beasts that attacked them, the alcohol, the adrenaline and her "people saving" instinct. In the light of the day Harry doubts her motives. However, she's never taken her word back and she's not about to start now. So, maybe cooperation it is. That's assuming he still wants anything to do with her. Judging by the rigid set of his shoulders and the air of tightly coiled danger surrounding him, he may not be willing to join forces.

Just as she discounts her chances, Dean relaxes minimally and with a tilt of his head, points to a greasy brown bag and two Styrofoam cups resting on the table.

"There's coffee if you want."

…

Despite his nonchalant attitude, Dean remains hyperaware of his guest the entire time she sleeps. She had made herself comfortable while he was on the phone with Bobby, and by the time he finished the conversation he saw her passed out on the bed.

It really irks him to know she considers him so little of a threat she fell asleep in his presence. On the other hand, while she is sleeping, he has time to ponder all the information that dropped into his lap. Like the fact she told him the truth, at least according to Bobby.

And Dean knows well enough not to doubt the more experienced hunter. Even though their half hour long conversation took a somewhat surreal quality at one point when Bobby confirmed that natural born witches and wizard were powerful enough to alter a person's perception, memories and free will.

In fact, the kick is that the older hunter is living proof of those abilities. Dean had barely managed to ask about 'natural born witches and wizards' and the man had burst like an overflowing dam of knowledge. Apparently in his younger days, Bobby Singer had run into this type of witches while on a hunt and they had put a spell on him, forbidding the hunter to share the information pertaining to them unless specifically asked for. Dean apparently did.

_Great! Just what he needs_.

It is times like these when Dean misses his bother as much as he'd miss a severed limb. But the kid is at Stanford, playing the normal life and not answering his phone for any conversation related to hunting. And while Sam's skills with research are unparalleled in their little family, Dean wants to let Sam live his dream for awhile, even though Dean clearly feels in over his head.

So, he does what he feels it's best in the current situation: turns to his father's journal which the older hunter left with him by mistake, _probably, _and plans to play it by ear when the witch wakes up.

_Besides, I'm good at improvising, _Dean tries to reassure himself, _not to mention pissing witches off_, a snide voice sounding exactly like his younger brother adds unhelpfully in his mind. He refuses to listen to that voice. For the next couple of hours he focuses on his reading material, looking for clues. Surprisingly, the journal offers no clear answers and Dean feels cheated.

Then Harry stirs on the bed, blinks sleepily and eventually acknowledges his presence.

_Well, it looks like the show has started._

_…._

The pull of coffee is too great to ignore, overriding her almost panic, so Harry drags herself off the bed and stumbles to the table. Not sparing a glance at the man still sitting there, she snatches a cup of nectar and downs a hearty gulp. Then grimaces when the lukewarm liquid registers, and with nary a thought, she whispers a word in Latin. The coffee is once again scalding hot, just the way she likes it. She finishes more than half before realizing Dean is tenser than before. His fist is clenched, lips are thinned, and he looks ready to fight or run. Suddenly self conscious, Harry takes a step back.

_Stupid, how could she have forgotten what he is?_ The casual display of magic probably made things worse.

Nervous, she takes another sip and glances around the room. A watch on the wall halfheartedly counts the minutes away behind scratched glass, and Harry gasps when she reads the time.

_Bloody hell! _Ron and Hermione are probably at the portkey already, and Harry still has last night's clothes on. With a muttered curse, a brief "I'll be back." and a soft 'pop' she disappears from the room leaving behind a shell shocked hunter.

…

"Had a good night?" Hermione is being her usual inquisitive self and Harry tries not to fidget. Fortunately Ron doesn't seem to want to know any details, so he's at the shop counter chatting with the wizard running the place. This portkey point is one of the few successfully established in the States, and the shop assistant is more than willing to brag.

Harry is grateful she has only one friend asking about her love life. Or lack of it. "It was…interesting". And yes, that was a way of putting it.

Hermione tilts her head. "With a man like that? That's the best you can tell me?"

"Hermione!" Harry whispers scandalized.

"What? I'm getting married, not becoming blind."

Harry shakes her head at her friend's antics and tries to change the subject. "You're leaving in ten minutes. I'll really miss you."

"I know what you are trying to pull," Hermione says, narrowing her eyes, "but I'm letting you off the hook now, because I expect lots of details for when you return home. You know, in the name of research."

"Alright," Harry quickly agrees, while blushing fiercely. She finally learned to pick the battles she can win and knows this argument would go to Hermione. Behind them, Ron shakes hands with the shop wizard, grabs a ceramic cup by the handle, and walks back.

"Dear," he says to Hermione, "the portkey is ready." He thrust the cup into his fiancée's hands and then he gives Harry a bone crushing hug. "You take care of yourself and see you at home in a bit. Mum still pesters me to get you to eat more at the Burrow. " He steps back a little, looks Harry up and down as if making sure she's alright, and gives her shoulder one gentle squeeze. "And if that guy hurts you they'll never find his body," he continues completely serious.

Harry smiles, eyes going soft with emotions. "Not to worry. I can handle him."

Ron nods, steps back to let Hermione get a last hug and then they both grab a hold of the ceramic cup, disappearing into thin air and leaving Harry alone with the shop assistant. Harry stares a bit after them, lost in her thoughts, then apparates to her hotel room.

It's time to make a decision on how to handle the hunter.

But first she has a few fire calls to do. When the first reports come in, courtesy of a fellow Auror, they solidify her resolution to stay and help. No matter how good a hunter Dean is, she fears this hunt has the potential to grab him, chew him and then spit him worse for wear. Somehow, Harry is reluctant to allow that.

At five o'clock in the afternoon, with grim pieces of information swirling in her mind and a bag of fresh doughnuts in her left hand as a peace offering, she stands in front of his hotel room, wondering whether to knock or get the heck out of there. Dean unknowingly takes the decision out of her hands by opening the door.

For a second, it's impossible to tell who is more surprised at seeing the other, but the moment passes and both the hunter and the witch school their expressions.

"I bring food?" Harry shakes a little the bag of doughnuts and Dean cocks an eyebrow at the gesture. He then takes a step back and leaves the door open, "In that case, I think you better come in."

TBC.

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><p><strong>Moving along nicely, wouldn't you say? I would love to hear if you agree with me in a review. :D<strong>


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